“He has told me, _mon père_,” replied Pauline. “I know—more than you think,” she added to herself. The Ambassador was too much excited to notice how dejected his daughter was looking. “Horses to the door!” he cried; and while the order was being executed he walked to and fro, muttering, “This event, I fear, will bring no good to the First Consul.” And it was with a very rueful look that he drove to the Winter Palace. If the Ambassador were gloomy, so, too, was his daughter. Wrapped in moody thought, she remained standing where her father had left her, till Wilfrid’s voice put an end to her reverie. And very curious it was to notice how quickly Pauline’s face brightened as soon as she became aware of his presence. “Dare you venture abroad with me this morning?” was her first question; in the circumstances, a surprising one to Wilfrid. “Is not this a somewhat rash act on your part?” he objected. “In rescuing a prisoner of the Czar, you made yourself amenable to arrest.” “The Czar,” replied Pauline, without naming _what_ Czar, “is about to issue an amnesty to all political prisoners.” “And we come under that term?” “I believe so. At any rate, we may go forth without fear of arrest. I have received this assurance from—from an authoritative source.” “Good. The Czar is not such a bad fellow, after all.” “No, indeed he is not,” said Pauline, with a laugh, perplexing in its merriment; “though you spoke somewhat hardly of him yesterday.” In his own opinion, Wilfrid had not spoken half so hardly as had Pauline. “What has caused this sudden change in him?” “Come with me, and you shall learn,” said Pauline, with a charming air of mystery. “I could tell you now, but I prefer to be dramatic with you. The Czar himself shall proclaim what the Czar will do.” And Pauline, having ordered her carriage, retired to put on her hat and mantle, while Wilfrid, attracted by an unusual hubbub outside the Embassy, went to the door. The Nevski Prospekt was alive with a throng of men and women, all moving in one direction, all animated by the same impulse. The crowd was composed mainly of the lower orders, but now and again there appeared the stately equipage of some lordly boyar. At times there would trot past little bands of Cossacks, who, carrying immensely long lances and mounted on shaggy ponies, sought to quicken the pace of the people by crying, “To the Winter Palace! To the Winter Palace!” “Now, I wonder what all this excitement is about?” said Wilfrid, re-entering the Embassy. “You do? Well, then, let us go to the Winter Palace, and discover the reason,” answered Pauline, who had returned, looking more charming than ever in her handsome furs.